


you don't know how to let go

by truth_seeker_1789



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Chuck Shurley Being an Asshole, Chuck Shurley is God, Chuck Shurley is So Done, Established Relationship, Gen, Introspection, POV Chuck Shurley, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships, Post-Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Random & Short, Reader Helps the Winchesters (Supernatural), Reader-Insert, Short, Short One Shot, Writer Chuck Shurley, could be romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_seeker_1789/pseuds/truth_seeker_1789
Summary: He's ready to write the final chapter of the Winchester Gospels, but your constant prayers and relentless optimism are proving more distracting than anticipated.
Relationships: Chuck Shurley & Reader, Chuck Shurley & You, Chuck Shurley/Reader, Chuck Shurley/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	you don't know how to let go

*

  
Your unyielding faith in Him was humbling, but recklessly foolhardy.

Even bearing witness firsthand to His jealousy, His rage, His unwillingness to concede, His decision to withhold mercy and distribute retribution-

You mourned the Nephil boy, supported the Winchesters until the time when you could slip away, your prayers reaching Him even in the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You pleaded with Him, gently asking for understanding, for some semblance of meaning to His actions. You knew this wasn't who He was, what He stood for- Not anymore.

You begged Him to come back, to apologize to Sam, to Dean, to Castiel, to make amends for epochs of selective negligence and intended manipulations.

Some part of you still believed in Him, held faith that He would return to you, your prayers a constant stream that only subsided when you would finally surrender to sleep.

You longed for peace; much like Michael, you still believed that He was going to bring you Paradise.

Your naivety was endearing and repulsive at the same time.

He had not written you to be this stringently devoted to Him, had never intended you to care so deeply for Him that you were willing to consider forgiveness should He shrug off even an nth of His pride.

He had never drafted a version of you who would offer up their own soul, cast away any of their own happiness to bring the boys the peace they allegedly deserved. And yet, here you were, doing just that.

It was exhausting Him, the constant stream of broken pleas and half-hearted accusations, the whispered demands and shouted compromises.

You offered Him legions of promises that were so deliciously enticing- 

So many offers came from you that He was tempted to act upon, pleas falling past your lips in the darkest hours of the morning, layering with the tangible fear that He was corrupted.

He took pride in the slight tremor in your words as you begged Him to bestow His mercy, to be the benevolent God so many had bled and died for, to give His Creation full reign of their own Free Will. You offered your own Autonomy in exchange, the only thing of value you naively believed He could ever want from you.

Some nights, more for His own amusement than for your relief, He would slip into your dreams, giving you the temporary peace you craved, ensuring just enough awareness to summon your desperation, to see that fragile, tremulous hope start to shatter as you watched Him abandon you once again.

A mistake, clearly, as your prayers soon shifted to a steady stream of conscious, a bitterness to them that gnawed at Him constantly- 

Your prayers were pesky gnats fluttering around Him as He attempted to focus on editing the most recent drafts.

Sometimes, you did successfully grab His attention, plaintive words so pointed He felt a creeping paranoia that you could see Him, the awareness of how disappointed you must be a sharp burst of regret that nearly tempted Him to steal you away.

He had considered it many times, in fact. Had considered the exchange of your own Free Will, of your very essence, for this Universe to write its own story.

Maybe if He answered you, you would finally shut up.

He knew- Damn, did He know- that you would never stop seeking your answers, would never stop holding Him on a pedestal, demanding He earn His place upon it.

You would never buy into His lies, never had, would see past His bluff almost immediately.

But if He ever wanted peace, ever wanted to finish drafting the final chapters of The Winchester Gospels, He needed to rid Himself of His biggest distraction.

Your faith in Him proved to be your greatest weakness, and the relief, the hope, the love in your eyes when He finally met with you-

For a moment, for a fraction of a moment, for a single unit of Time Humanity could never truly measure-

For that brief instant that held an eternity, the longing overwhelmed Him, a pathetic remnant of His masquerading as the Prophet.

He remembered every brush of fingers against heated skin, the exposed vulnerabilities, the laughter, the tears, the soft wonder in your eyes when He finally told you the truth.

That love, that awe, that hope- All still waiting for Him, blazing in your soul.

And for that brief instant, He truly reconsidered His plans, faltering as you sighed out His name.

But the story was more important.

It always would be.

It always had been.

You would never understand that.

Adopting your favourite smile, the gentle warmth that He knew you had wanted to see, the very visage of the man you had fallen so deeply for, the image of the God you knew far too intimately, He stepped closer, resting His palm against your cheek.

Your eyes were shining, drifting shut as He gently traced over the lids with His thumb.

He breathed out your name, allowing you a moment to savour it, the last chance you would have for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry." 

Your eyes flashed open, a clear panic replacing whatever hope had remained, the dark grips of terror starting to haunt you.

"Chuck, wha-"

He didn't give you the chance to finish, sending you away before you could summon any more of His guilt.

Maybe one day He would bring you back to Him, take another stab at being the man you had fallen for.

But for now, He had a story to finish.

He couldn't risk any more distractions.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another song sprint, this one to EDEN's "drugs."
> 
> I don't really decide where the story goes, just more pick a character, set the tunes to random, and let the words flow. And for Chuck, idk- It seems I keep teetering on this ledge of how much I still have faith that He's not a total bastard, and yet still despise Him for being- Himself.
> 
> It's a recurring theme for me. ^_^;
> 
> I feel like so many of these characters would have different stories playing out if they had a true friend to fall back on, and well-
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Apologies if this fic was more rambly than normal. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Comments are love. Comments are life.


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